Learning to Love
by Ainko
Summary: A short fanfiction based on the story of Kaddar Iniat and Kalasin of Conte after their marriage, before they have their son. Even if you have an arranged marriage it is possible to fall in love with your spouse. If your lucky.


_This has been taken from the diary of Kalasin of Conte, wife to Kaddar Iliniat, sister to Roald, Liam, Lianne, Jasson and Varia of Conte, first daughter to Jonathan of Conte and Thayet jian Wilima, grand-daughter to Kalasin of the K'miri and Adigun jian Wilima from her mother's side and Lianne of Naxen and Roald of Conte from her fathers, niece to Gareth (the Younger) of Naxen and Lady Cythera, Empress of Carthak and its colonies. From her hand this is the events that transcribed before the birth of her son. This is her story._

The room which I share with Kaddar has silk drapes covering the windows that makes sunlight fade in slowly in in the morning, tickling our faces, waking us slowly from our restful sleep. The beds are filled with downy feathers from geese that come from the Roof of the World, feathers which are prized at three gold nobles each. Our rooms are always filled with fragrance from plants that Kaddar tends himself, nurturing them with his own hands, hands that are firm, the product of thorns and tending flowers, of making the Imperial garden the most beautiful in the world, hands that I teased him about, the first time I showed him he wasn't marrying a noble sheep. The finest, the most beautiful pottery, glaze with designs over, created by master craftsmen are ornaments, tastefully arranged around us. Our rooms simply _sing_ of wealth. It is wealth that I know my brother, Roald, can never hope to equal. I know where he will live. In a the palace. In a sturdy, three-room abode, near the top, that looks strong and steady. He will not have the benefit of this luxury, no. Like the past Kings of Tortall, he will content himself with a sumptuous room, true, but with none of this expensive silk curtains, these beautiful fragrances. No. He will content himself with a well-built bed, a hearth, and a roaring fire and a beautiful Yamani princess, Shinkokami. They have already learned to love each other. The letters from my mother bode well for them.

My brother and his wife will not see the beauty of Carthak. I will never see them again. It is unheard of, except for a funeral or a birth, for me to leave Carthak to visit a foreign country. Even when I have relatives there. Even when it once was my home. No, these nobles think I can switch homes like their females switch lovers, one for every day of the week! The would never see the wealth that pours into our lands. The beauty of Carthak. Beauty. But yet...they would know the prejudice of Carthak. The subjugation. The hatred for the slaves that we imprison. Slaves of Galla: blood-proud people, who fight in the beginning but realize defeat soon. They consign themselves to being crafty, working their way up the slave totem pole. Slaves of Scanra: strong, fighting boys who often earn work as guards, slaves of the Copper Isles: raka and luarin who fight the our power until the day they die, slaves from Yamani: those with faces of stone who most often manage to escape back to their homeland. And finally those from Tortall.

My father buys back all Tortallan slaves. It contributes to the Carthaki revenue. It's a source of a joke among noblemen who dislike me. And my father. And Tortall. Those who wish Emperor Ozorne - Mynoss, Mithros and Shakith burn him! - had beaten the Tortallan armies. Those liars. Those scum. Those traitorous sons of pigs, sons of donkeys who the Graveyard Hag herself spit on. But there. An Empress shouldn't curse.

My brother and sister-in-law will never see the warped beauty of Carthak. Our imperial armies, our strength, our wealth, our beauty. Our subjugation of slaves. It is like seeing the most beautiful of cloth, the most fascinating of designs stitched onto it and oil seeping across it. Fouling it. Defiling it. It hurts to look at it. Because that's what Carthak is. We could be the mightest nation in the world, but because of this slave custom, this barbaric custom, we are associated with nobles like King _Maggot_ - Maggur, I mean.

But as I rise, and I dress myself, a custom that offends many Carthaki nobles because according to them am I am so _useless_ I need a _maid _to help me, I notice a note with my husband's seal on it. My husband often rises earlier than myself and he is gone from our chambers by now. It is penned in his hand, messy and scrawling, and it makes a ghost of a smile twitch at the corners of my mouth. He writes, There's a state banquet tonight. I need you to make the seating arrangement. I need Leon and Liorane of Huaro to be seated on my right. Try not to make arguments. Going with the stuffy treasurer to discuss how much we're spending on servants. Going to be bored silly. I love you. Kaddar.

A flush of annoyance runs through me. Leon and Liorane are two nobles with land and wealth at their disposal. The greatest slaveholders in Carthak. Since coming to Carthak, I began to get rid of all the slaves in the palace. It took time, I grant it, but with Kaddar's help, I began to. Now we are waited on by _servants_, people who are payed for their time, and given sick days and leave time. The guards and the people who tend the bulk of the gardens are still slaves...but given time that will change. I will make it so.

I dressed myself in a blue gown that matches my eyes with a sheer silk overgown. My friends from Tortall, Goddess bless them, had always told me I bore more resemblance to my mother, Thayet, then I let on. I had always ignored the beautiful side of me. It was fit only for being a noble, a lily-handed lady. A sheep. I refuse, even now, to let Kaddar call me beautiful. I remember the first time he showed me around the lake, a lake that glinted with light from the moon. And he called me beautiful, his eyes like glass, and I threw back my head, arms akimbo, and told him that I would tolerate no hallow word of, "pretty" from him. "Call me talented, if I astound you, graceful if I dance well, tactful if I avoid arguments, or sensible if I know what to do. Never call me pretty, Kaddar Illiniat because I won't have it!"

And he stared at me and a boyish smile crossed his face and he made a Players bow, with a dramatic flourish. "Yes, ma'am." And I said in a queenly accent, We may now continue and he laughed and I raised a brow and asked him what there was to laugh about it.

And I began to learn to love him. Goddess knows it wasn't hard.

But this banquet. Leon and Liorane of Hauro were cold people who made it clear they did not approve of me. What would they say? What slight jabs would they make?

Kaddar had often teased me of having the Lioness's temper, only worse because I was a Empress and therefore needed to be polite and dainty. And I had showed him exactly how dainty I was by picking up mud off the ground and heaving it at him. I was always a good shot.

And he had looked, stunned, at his ruined clothes before laughing again. And when I asked him why he was laughing he had replied, "You never fail to suprise me, Kally." Kally. My nickname. A commoner's name. Kaddar's pet name. His symbol of love.

This banquet though. The Huaro's...the shivery feeling that made butterflies, large monarch-winged beasts flap their wings in my stomach...I was scared. Scared of what I felt would happen.

_Oh Goddess, please say that feeling I have in my stomach that bodes ill is lying to me!_


End file.
